


Bleeding

by deisegal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, references to blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1257946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deisegal/pseuds/deisegal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis and Melisandre behind closed doors after Blackwater....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariel2me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/gifts).



He knew he was dreaming. But he continued walking the curved corridor. He vaguely connected it to the memory of the great stone drum at Storm’s End. But there were dragon carvings on the wall so it couldn’t really have been Storn's End. He reached out and found the walls were damp. He kept walking. The smell of sulphur suddenly filled the air and he found himself at an opening in the wall, a faint glow coming within. He knew this place too. He’d walked here with Melisandre, just after Blackwater. But even now that seemed like a dream and he was starting to wonder..... He’d thought the tales of passageways and secret stairs running deep down into the Dragonmount were just a fanciful rumour, tales passed down through the smallfolk who liked to give the Targaryens more credit than they deserved. But they had had dragons. Dragons were magic. Who was he to question the idea of sulphur and smoke filled passageways underneath this forbidding lump of rock that had been his home for nigh on 13 years now, when dragons had once lived and reduced entire cities to ashes.

He leaned his hand against the wall at the opening. The walls were damp here too. But this dampness felt sticky. He stared at his fingers. Blood.

He heard a slow clapping behind him. 

“Blood on your hands. How very literal. How very _Stannis_.” 

Renly. He spun around. But there was nobody standing there. But why would he be there? He’d murdered his brother. Or at least some part of him had. Magic. And he had dreamed of him every single night ever since. He closed his fist and the blood started oozing out, dripping on the floor, onto his boots. He squeezed harder and the blood came faster. The was no nightmare. This was a sweet release. And if he squeezed out enough he could purge himself. He had seen himself in the looking glass in his chamber only the night before, a dessicated corpse already. He could die in his dreams as well.

“Stannis...Stannis, wake up.”

He blinked and gasped. Melisandre was leaning over him, one hand on his chest and the other pulling at his right hand. He was suddenly aware of pain in that hand.

“You’ve squeezed so hard you’ve drawn blood.”

His lips curled into a half smile, “How much blood?”

“Enough. I’ll need to get you a bandage.”

She broke away and he suddenly felt a rush of cold air as she left his side. He glanced down at the palm of his right hand. He had let his nails grow like his beard since Blackwater so they were rough and jagged. Even his blood looked dull to him. Tainted.

“She was rummaging at that carved chest of hers, the one she’d brought from Asshai,the one which she had brought into his chamber while she had been sitting watch over him these few weeks. He knew she kept a few dried herbs within. He knew the power of such things, had seen Cressen laid low by a mere sip from a tainted cup of wine.

She held no rancour towards Cressen, explaining that she admired the lengths he was willing to go to to protect the man he served. Stannis had dreamt of Cressen at times too, and those dreams were no less painful than the ones about Renly. 

But she had other things in that chest. Secret things. Her whole existence was a secret to him. And yet something always stopped him from questioning her too much. She served, she obeyed.

She comforted.

She settled herself on the bed again and dabbed some liquid onto a cloth from a small blue bottle then onto his palm. He winced at the sting.

“Will this cure me or kill me?”

“You’re not so easily killed my King.”

He smiled faintly at that. It was true men had been trying to do so for years. Now his enemies probably thought of him as being as good as dead, after what had happened on Blackwater. In the immediate aftermath he wondered if he might as well be, for all he had lost. All those men. Davos.

But he was growing stronger again.

And the fog was starting to lift. He’d even started eating again the previous week. Melisandre had had to help him. His body had almost forgotten what food was. He couldn’t say he cared for the taste of it, but his body thanked him. And he despised weakness in others, so he held himself in particular contempt for these past weeks of self pity. 

Melisandre wrapped a strip of linen around his rest, humming lightly as she did so. Sometimes he liked to watch her doing simple things. She always looked so serene, whether it be stirring a bowl of porridge or lighting a candle. She made the mundane look exotic. 

She had changed everything.

 

These past weeks she’d never tried to make him talk. She had sat with him patiently. He had often thought of asking her if she had nothing better to do. But then he afraid of what she might say. She mostly watched the flames. He’d woken from another fitful sleep one night to the sound of whimpering. The room was still half lit; she never let the fire go out and also insisted on keeping several candles lit. He’d padded over to where she was in the chair. Her head was lolling from side to side. Her eyes were open but she was unseeing. Stannis passed his hand over her eyes and she didn’t blink. Suddenly a trickle of blood appeared from her left nostril. Horrified, he shook her until he came out of her reverie.

For once she was caught off guard, “My King?”

“You’re bleeding.”

A horrified look appeared on her face and she glanced down at her lap. He took her chin in his hand as gently as he could manage and tipped her face upwards, “Your nose.”

“Ah. Yes.” She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and Stannis let go so she could dab at the blood.

“Does that happen often?”

She smiled wanly, “Not often, no.”

“You should get some sleep.”

“I like the chair.”

“Your King orders you.” He reached out his hand and she took it, resting her slender white hand gently on his palm.

“And I obey.”

 

Her touch was gentle as she fastened the bandage around his hand, but the tone of her voice was slightly scolding as she spoke.

“I’ve told you you should use me when you feel the need to hurt something. You know I heal faster.”

He knew that. He didn’t know why. Again, he didn’t want to ask. The more he thought about her powers the more it made him nervous. Yet at the same time it exhilarated him to think of this weapon he had at his disposal. He saw the folly of leaving her behind at Blackwater. Saw it writ large on the sky in a terrible shade of green, heard it in the screams of his men and smelled it in the form of charred flesh that filled his nostrils for days afterwards. No, for so long as he fought this war he would never let her leave his side again.

He was thinking of asking her about the shadows again, when the time would be right to make another one. He blushed at the mere thought of it. He’d asked her before if there was no other way, that surely her God would not expect a man to break his marriage vows. She’d laughed as she disrobed and mounted him the second time.

“Those vows were not said in front of the one true God, my King”.

He’d kept almost all his clothes on both times, but she’d been naked. And despite all his protestations about marriage vows, he’d felt pleasure with her like he could never have imagined. And the second time, when he had spilled his seed inside her and knew the deed was done, he had lain there for quite a bit longer than he should have. The first time he had pulled away from her immediately and laced himself up. She sang out words of encouragement as she retrieved her robe from the floor.

“I shall make you a son this very night my King! Soon you shall….”

He didn’t even hear the end of that sentence as he slammed the great door behind him, to the surprise of his two guards. He felt his cheeks were flaming and he couldn’t get back to his chamber fast enough. He scrubbed himself raw in the bath that night. He couldn’t rid himself of the shame but he could he make himself feel something other than what he felt when he had been inside her.

That second time though..... Everything inside him had burned, from his toes to his scalp. He knew what to expect this time. She seemed to understand as well, and had rocked gently back and forth on him as his breathing came back to normal. The ruby at her neck pulsed and she lifted up her arms and ran her hands through her hair. He wondered if this act was truly pleasure to her or was she communing with her god in some way. A spasm of irrational jealousy shot through his chest.

She ran her hands across her full breasts then opened her eyes and smiled down at him.

“My King, what we do here together, it is the the most holy act. I feel truly blessed.”

Blessed. He gritted his teeth and moved to sit up. She slid off him gracefully and went to pick up her heavy robe.

“R’hllor will bless us again tonight. I am certain of it." She pulled the hood of her robe up, "I will wait for Ser Davos in my tent." 

The question “does it always work?” was on the tip of his tongue that night. But it stayed there and she left the tent. If she answered that she’d have to tell him about all the times she’d done this before. And with other men. She was _his_ weapon now. That night he’d sent Davos under Storm’s End with her and on his return he had been desperate to share what he’d seen but he refused to see him. Asking him to help carry out the act was one thing, but he couldn’t bear to speak to him of it. Good, honest, straightforward Davos. He had brought life to Storm’s End all those years ago with his onions, potatoes and salted beef. And now Stannis had ordered him to bring death. Ser Cortnay had been an insolent fool and a traitor, and needs must in a time of war. But it should not have had to come to this. He could only count on the loyalty of two people now. He had Davos. And he had her.

But it needed to be done once more; his mind was turning away from his defeat, from his humiliation, and back to the task in hand. That abomination still sat on the throne, his strings no doubt being pulled by his viper of a mother. He’d ask her in a few days time, when he had re-gained more strength. She was back at the chest now, replacing the linens and bottle. He wondered if she would come back and lie beside him but she went to her chair and settled down in front of the flames 

He wriggled his fingers and stared down at the bandage on his palm. He should at least try to get some more sleep. Just as his eyelids started to get heavy again he heard voices at the door. He opened his eyes to see Melisandre talking to someone but he couldn’t see who it was.

He sat up. She closed the door firmly and clasped her hands together, looking pensive.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something I have seen in the flames has come to pass.”

He ground his teeth, “Can you be a little less vague?"

She smoothed down her skirts, took a deep breath, then spoke softly.

“Ser Davos has returned to Dragonstone”.

 _Davos!_ He felt dizzy. He had just given him up for dead. He began looking around for his boots. This was the first good news he had had since Blackwater. She forever spoke of signs, yet surely _this_ was a sign. His onion knight had come back to him.

Melisandre rushed forward and knelt at his side, “No my King. You cannot go to him.”

He stared at her, daring her to explain herself because he didn't even have the words.

“Ser Davos is not the same man who left here. He is sick and his heart is full of dark and twisted hate.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I have seen it my King. He means to kill me. He has a knife."

“Davos wouldn’t…”

“Stannis, he blames me for what happened to his sons. His four dead sons.”

Stannis did not need the reminder of Stannis’ sons. Allard. Maric. Matthos. Dale. He had known them all, all of them loyal servants to him in one way or another.

"That was not your fault, how can he hold you responsible?"

“It doesn't matter what the truth is, what matters is what _he_ believes. Can you just imagine if something were to happen to your daughter, and you held someone responsible for that. What would you do to that person?”

“I would tear them apart with my….”

He stopped and started down at his feet.

“And for Ser Davos it is four times worse. I do not fear for my own safety. My God will protect me. But he needs to be saved from himself.” 

“What are you going to do?”

“I have sent guards to take him to the dungeons.”

“When can I see him?”

She reached up and stroked his cheek, “It will take time. He will need to heal his heart and his body. He will need to regain his strength.”

Stannis knew that feeling. 

She continued, “And then he will be strong enough to help your cause again. I have seen that too. He will be returned to you, but you must be patient.”

Stannis suddenly felt drained again. The exhilaration of finding out Davos was alive cancelled out by the knowledge that he must let his loyal friend sit in the dungeons. He longed to see him, to see his open, honest face once more. But part of him was relieved that he wouldn’t have to face him. He had raised Davos up from nothing, given his sons a future they could never have dreamed of had Davos remained a smuggler. Then he had snatched away their lives in an instant. It was the dwarf’s barbaric trick, but Stannis had led them to that point. Davos should have blamed the lords who convinced him to leave Melisandre behind. No. He should have blamed....someone else

Melisandre watched on as he swung his legs back onto the bed and then she pulled the covers around him once more. He wasn’t sure how long she was watching him but he fell asleep quickly. He was soon dreaming of Blackwater again, of the stench of death and the shrieks of terror. This time he thrashed out with his arms. And somehow he knew he was reaching for Melisandre. And clasping her hand tightly.

He would draw blood from her as she drew strength from her flames.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual my headcanon for Stannis and Melisandre's relationship is a bit of a mish mash of the show and the books. I'm not even 100% on the shadow baby gestation logistics in the books because we have no idea when No. 1 was created. But for the purposes of this fic, the shadow baby that killed Renly was "created" in the Painted Table Chamber, and "born" after the parley. And then I revert back to the book timeline for the shadow baby that killed Ser Cortnay Penrose, but in this case the shadow baby was created and born in the same night. R'hllor willed it to be so.
> 
> It's fanfic, baby...


End file.
